CHAPTER VIII

RIVALS

MAJOR URQUHART went off to Lovelace's Cottage.

Yes, Mrs. Norman was in, the maid told him. Would he come in and wait? She was upstairs, but would be down directly.

So in he came, and scowled when he saw upon the mantelpiece a cabinet photo of Austin, in his pink coat, on his favourite hunter.

"Insolent puppy!" was his muttered imprecation.

In about ten minutes' time Mrs. Norman appeared. She was clad in a russet-brown velvet tea gown; a cluster of tea roses was fastened in some old point lace at her breast. Her face was flushed with her riding, the little curls about her forehead still damp with the rain. The Major had never seen her look more beautiful.

"How kind of you, Major!" she said, extending one white hand, and looking up at him with pleased eyes. "You see, I have not come to grief, as you prophesied, but I did wish you had been with us. We had such a splendid run. May I tell you about it, or would you rather not? Will it bore you?"

"Anything that interests you interests me," responded the Major gallantly.

"Ah, that is your unselfishness! When I think of what it must be to you to be deprived of the sport you once loved so much, it makes me marvel at your cheeriness. And instead of sitting still and developing into an irritable whining gouty invalid, you choose a hobby which not only employs your odd time, but is of such inestimable benefit to your fellow-creatures. And you're always busy, always contented. I often think you are not half appreciated by your relatives, but, as we were saying the other day, three in family is rather an awkward number—one invariably goes to the wall. And, of course, Miss Urquhart is wrapped up in her father, and he in her. It is only natural! Well, I am digressing. Now I will describe our run."

Mrs. Norman was a good reconteuse. Nothing escaped her quick observation; she had humour, and knew how to seize the humorous points of the hunting field. The Major listened and chuckled and laughed till the tears came into his eyes. Then he broke in with some of his hunting reminiscences, and Mrs. Norman was a woman who could take interruption with equanimity, and be as interested in his stories as in her own.

The time flew, and when seven o'clock struck by the little silver chiming clock on Mrs. Norman's writing table the Major got reluctantly upon his feet.

"Oh, must you be going? Now, won't you take pity on me and stay to my frugal little supper? It will be such a treat to have company. I am sure the Admiral will spare you to-night. Just to celebrate my first day with the Thanning hounds. And that dear boy Austin sent me in a brace of partridges, so there will be just a picking for each of us. You don't know what distaste I have for my food when I invariably sit down to eat it alone. I picture your cheerful dinner going on, and the amicable and interesting conversation upon the sayings and doings of each one of you during the day, and then I sigh and try to be content with my lonely lot."

"We hadn't a very amicable luncheon to-day," said the Major with a short laugh.

He looked round the cosy firelit room, and at the pretty bewitching little woman before him, and he contrasted it with the big dining-room at home, and the Admiral's politics. He saw Sidney linking her arm in her father's, and going off to the study with him after dinner and throwing a laughing word at him over her shoulder:

"Now, Uncle Ted, don't shut yourself up the whole evening in your workshop. And don't burn it to the ground, for I know you have a nap over your pipe."

The words of Mrs. Norman rang in his ears: 'Three in family is rather an awkward number—one invariably goes to the wall.' Why should he trudge home to make the outside third, when here was one who wanted, who appreciated, him?

Mrs. Norman saw his hesitation.

"Now you're going to say 'Yes.' I won't be refused."

She pulled her bell. The maid appeared.

"Major Urquhart is staying to supper," she said.

And the Major sat down again, with a smile and a shake of his head, but relief plainly discernible in his face.

"They won't miss me," he said. "They never wait, for they say I'm always late."

"Do tell me what happened at lunch. That is, if it is not very inquisitive," Mrs. Norman said, re-seating herself in an easy chair opposite to him and stretching out her slender satin-slippered foot upon the fender.

"Oh, it was a tirade of my brother's against timber cutting. He refused to have that old elm touched!"

"The one that blocks that exquisite view? Oh, what an old duffer he is! Why don't you insist a little more upon your rights, Major? You are too good-natured, too easygoing. You have allowed your brother for so long to think of the house as his that he is an absolute tyrant regarding it."

"Well, you know," the Major said, uneasily twisting himself in his chair, "it is his virtually—he paid me a big sum, as I told you."

"Don't tell me any more," said Mrs. Norman impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground. "It is Jacob and Esau over again; making you sell your birthright! I don't mean to liken you to Esau, but I think the Admiral intensely mean in taking advantage of a young soldier's difficulties! Could he not have helped you out of those difficulties without making such a bargain? It would have been only brotherly to do it."

"I must say that I proposed it," said Major Urquhart. "You see, I was a gay young dog, had run through a lot—ah, well, best not talk about it."

"No, we won't. And, of course, as we said the other day, an estate, however small, cannot be handed over from one brother to another in such an easy illegal fashion. I am quite sure the Admiral in his heart realises that the house is yours, though you were ready to make such an amicable arrangement with him. Virtually, it does not matter much, as long as you are content to sink your own individuality and live together as you have been doing. But I must say I cannot bear to see you put aside as you are. You ought to have a voice in the management of your own place, and if a time ever came when you wanted to be master of it, you ought to have the pluck and stand up and tell them so. There! I have relieved my feelings, and I know it is most impertinent of me to give my opinion on such a private family matter. You must forgive me. But you are so kind and unselfish that you do not seem able to stand up for yourself, and it makes me angry. Now, shall we go in and have supper? I hear the bell, and we will talk of lighter subjects."

She chatted with great ease and graciousness; her supper table was dainty with flowers and well-kept silver; the soup, partridges, and sweet omelette that followed were well cooked, and the Major found himself wondering what he would feel like if he could sit down to dinner every day with this pretty vivacious little woman, who seemed to understand and feel for him in a way that no one else had ever done.

She let him smoke in her drawing-room afterwards, and still they talked; they seemed to have so much to say to each other. Once the Major pointed to the photo on the mantelpiece.

"Did he give you that?"

She smiled.

"Yes; he is such a boy, isn't he? So proud of himself when he is in his pink. I sent him home to his mother to-day; he does rather bore me, entre nous, with his youthful aggressiveness and self-assertion. But he's a nice boy for all that. I wish my girl was home; they would be great chums, I know. I feel so very old when I am talking to him. I'm afraid his mother is not very sympathetic, is she? The young want an interest shown in them, and a patient tolerance for their youthful failings. I am glad to mother him a little, for I never forget my own youth—and I had a baby son once. He died when he was two; I always feel tenderly towards boys. He would have been such a big son by now if he had lived."

She sighed heavily, and a wistful look came into her eyes. The Major's spirits rose. How foolish he had been to think that Austin de Cressiers could stand in his way! What was he but a bumptious boy, who bored this kind little soul to distraction! He looked almost kindly at the photo at which a short time ago he had gnashed his teeth.

It was past ten o'clock when he let himself in with his latchkey. Sidney, candle in hand, was just going up the wide staircase. She turned at his entrance.

"Oh, you truant! Why didn't you tell us you were dining out? But we guessed. Go in and see dad, won't you? Good-night!"

He nodded a good-night to her, and marched off rather surlily to the smoking-room.

Admiral Urquhart greeted him pleasantly:

"What kind of night? Rain before long, eh?"

"Begun already," the Major said shortly.

"Look here!" the Admiral said. "I was a bit hot tempered at lunch, old fellow. Chop down your elm, if you like. Don't let us cut up rough with each other over such a trifle!"

"Oh, it's all right," said the Major, appeased at once. "We'll have a walk round to-morrow and discuss it."

He dropped into a chair, took his pipe out, and peace was restored. For the time, even Mrs. Norman's gentle insinuations had faded from his mind. His evening had been a delightful one. Austin was relegated to the background; the Major and the lady moved alone through a succession of dreams. Her personality possessed him, and he was content.

There was another household in which peace had been made that night.

Monica went back to her farm refreshed in soul and spirit. Yet a lurking fear was in her heart that she might find Chuckles still harbouring resentment against her for such summary chastisement. She found Aunt Dannie still dozing over the fire.

"Have you heard or seen anything of the child?" Monica asked a little anxiously.

"Eh, my dear? No. Why, you sent him to bed, did you not? I always think you are a little too bard upon him. But he is very obedient; he has not made a sound."

Monica went upstairs. It was dark, and there was a great stillness in Chuckles' small room. A sudden fear seized her. Had he defied her after all, and made his escape downstairs, perhaps into the kitchen, knowing she had left the house? She hoped there would be no need for further scolding. Under her reserved, rather stern manner there beat a very soft heart where her small nephew was concerned. She stood on the threshold of the door, listening. It was an intense relief to hear a whispered, lisping voice proceeding from the bed.

"And so you see, God, I'll just step up as quick as anyfing the minute you call. I'd like to. I know all about it. And Jesus is my very special Friend. Why, I know Him almost as well as Miss Sid, and when Aunt Monnie come she'll look and look, and will never find me nevermore, and she'll say to herself: 'Why, I spec' he's just been taken to heaven becorse I was cross!'"

The little chuckle that gave Chuckles his name came at the close of his speech. He was evidently gloating over his aunt's supposed remorse when she found him gone.

Monica suppressed a smile, and called out:

"Chuckles, are you awake?"

There was no answer. The whispering was over. She advanced into the room, and lighted a candle. Matches were not allowed in the child's room, but she carried a silver fusee case in her pocket. Then she saw that the bedclothes were pulled tightly over the small boy's head, and the little figure was rigidly still.

"Chuckles, it's nearly supper time. Would you like to come down?"

No answer or movement.

"I believe there's a hot baked apple for a little boy who is going to be good."

Then the bedclothes were thrown back, and Chuckles' curly head was thrust upwards. Not yet would he entirely capitulate.

"I'm very busy saying my p'ayers. God and me don't want to be 'asturbed!"

"I'm sorry," said Monica meekly. "I'll wait."

She sat down on a chair near the window and there was silence.

Chuckles regarded her reflectively; then he lifted up his voice:

"And, please God, perhaps we'd better wait till nex' time, becorse supper is ready. Amen."

Then he sat up and began eagerly to put on his socks. Monica came to assist him.

"God and me have been talking," he assured her with a grave nod. "God has quite forgiven me for not going with you. He's purfeckly pleased with me now."

Then Monica lowered her head and pressed her lips on the curly head.

"And so have I forgiven the little boy who told his aunt he hated her."

"That was Satan," said Chuckles in the same solemn voice. "He tolded me to say that, and he hurried me to say it, so I did it quick as anyfing."

"But you are sorry now?"

He looked at her with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Could I have two baked apples, do you fink?"

"No, only one. Are you sorry, Chuckles?"

He threw his arms round her neck and hugged her.

"I loves you! Let's hurry downstairs!"

They walked downstairs hand in hand, and Monica's soul was at peace.

But there was trouble at Thanning Towers that night. Mother and son were talking late into the night. Mrs. de Cressiers first scolded, then threatened, then expostulated with Austin for neglected estate business and being out with the hounds day after day.

"I understand you've told the grooms you mean to hunt four days a week; who is going to do the work which you came home from college to do?"

"If I hunt four days that leaves me two for business, and I should be a rotten slacker if I couldn't tackle all that there is to do in that time."

"You know your father likes to see you at a certain hour every morning and talk over things with you. If he does not do it, he worries the whole day. How can he do this when you leave the house every morning before he's out of bed?"

"He worries anyhow. There is no necessity for him to be like clockwork. I can talk over things with him in the evening."

"You come home dead tired and very cross, and your father's patience has given out, waiting all day for you. If he discusses business late at night, he sleeps badly in consequence. You know this as well as I do, Austin."

Austin began to get heated.

"I always have hunted, mother. I'm not going to give up every healthy exercise and be a household drudge and slave. I'll throw the whole thing up and go abroad; you expect too much from me."

"You promised me a month ago you would only have an occasional day out. What has made you so keen about it? I understand you are mounting Mrs. Norman. Is she the attraction?"

"If she is, it's no one's business but my own. You all seem determined to run her down."

"You cannot accuse me of that. I have had her to luncheon several times. I admit she is a bright sensible little woman—too fond of affecting to be young, for she's old enough to be your mother; but she ought not to come in the way of your duties. Your father ought to come first with you."

"He doesn't, then," muttered Austin rebelliously.

"I don't want to make mischief," pursued Mrs. de Cressiers relentlessly; "but if you will neglect the estate and pay no regard to our wishes, I shall go down to Mrs. Norman and tell her the harm she is doing you."

Austin laughed.

"I am not a baby to be coerced by such threats. You will do yourself more harm than you will do her or me if you venture to mix her up with it."

So it went on. Mrs. de Cressiers had an iron will, but so had her boy when roused, and she soon saw that opposition was making him like adamant. She adopted a milder tone; she reminded him how all their hopes were centred in him, how he was their only son, and the only one who could take his father's place.

Austin listened and tried to carry it off with a high hand, but he grew uncomfortable, and finally departed to bed without wishing his mother good-night.

He rode off obstinately the next morning, and found Mrs. Norman waiting for him at the four cross-roads. The meet was not a great distance off, so they jogged slowly along the roads together. He confided to her that he had had a row with his mother the previous night.

"She always has kept a tight hand on the reins in our household. My father is absolutely under her thumb, so she cannot understand my independence."

"Mothers never can," said Mrs. Norman softly. "I sometimes wonder, if my boy had lived to grow up, whether I should have tried to manage him. I don't think I should. I have a great belief in men being placed in a right position. Young men must have freedom of thought and action; they can't be tied to their mothers' apron strings, if they're to be men at all. But we poor women can't understand it. Now let us enjoy our day. We won't think of disagreeable things."

"Were you awfully tired yesterday?"

"No; I had that poor old Major down to inquire after me. Don't glare so, you silly boy! He bored me to death. I couldn't get rid of him; he was so garrulous. But I do feel so intensely sorry for him. He is old and crippled, and seems to have so few pleasures."

"He can't keep away from you, it seems," said Austin a trifle curtly.

"I always notice that old men must have some woman as a recipient for all their egotistical reminiscences. You need not be jealous. I look upon him as a father—a grandfather, if you like. There's the horn! We must hurry up."

At four o'clock that afternoon Sidney met Austin riding home. He stopped when he saw her, and dismounted.

"Sid, do come up to dinner to-night. I tell you I can't stand any more of the mother's jaw. She was at it all last night, and now I'm going back to begin it again. I mean to hunt, so she must make up her mind to it. It's absurd to attempt to tie me down to an old woman's life and make me into a sick-nurse to my father. I won't do it. I have told her so. I very nearly accepted Mrs. Norman's invitation to dinner, but I won't be a funk, and I know I must see the governor about some letters. Can't you come back now, just as you are?"

Sidney shook her head.

"I never accept invitations to dine from the men of a household. Your mother would not be pleased."

"Rot! You know she would be delighted. Well, come back to tea. I'll manage the rest."

Sidney wavered, then said she would.

"Only I must run in and tell them I shall be out to tea. Don't wait for me. I shall come later."

She was as good as her word. Mrs. de Cressiers was delighted to see her, and kept her to dinner. Afterwards she sang to Mr. de Cressiers, and kept them all in a good humour. She put a word in for Austin when she was alone with Mrs. de Cressiers.

"Don't go against him, and give him credit for some feeling for you and his father. You'll find he will buckle to work the two days he is home, and I don't believe he will continue his four days' hunting for very long. Mrs. Norman is not very strong, and she won't keep it up. When she gives it up, he will."

Austin walked back with her at ten o'clock, but his talk was chiefly of Mrs. Norman and of her horsemanship, which was astonishing the field. Sidney listened and tried to sympathise, and Austin did not notice any want of enthusiasm in his subject. When they parted, he wrung her hand gratefully.

"You're a trump, Sid. I'm eternally grateful to you. But, I say, do keep the old Major from trotting down all hours and boring Mrs. Norman to death. She can't stand him."

Sidney nodded and laughed, but as she turned into the house, she again murmured to herself reflectively:

"She is very clever; most appallingly so, and no one seems to see it but me."